


redolent

by airedis



Series: quiet verse [4]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Asexual Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 22:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6444850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airedis/pseuds/airedis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a heaviness in his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	redolent

**Author's Note:**

> Companion fic to reticent, repose, and respite

They’re off in some other country – he can’t remember which this time – and Taekwoon feels like he’s burning up. The weather isn’t particularly warm, his clothes aren’t too heavy, but there’s an inferno crackling beneath his skin and it’s pulsing through him from the inside out.

Wonsik nudges Hakyeon to get his attention, but Taekwoon weakly swats his hand away when Hakyeon moves to touch his forehead. Hakyeon gives him a look and Taekwoon resigns with a sigh.

Hakyeon’s palm is cool but not outstandingly so.

Taekwoon takes the bottle of water handed to him without protest.

He can feel a flush rising sneakily to his cheeks, not a fever-heat but the embarrassing burn of realizing that, even now, he still needs to be taken care of. He tries to drown out the feeling with a gulp of water, the liquid tepid and smooth as it runs down his throat, distracting himself just enough to not notice Hakyeon’s hand come up once more. He squeezes Taekwoon’s shoulder and lets his hand linger just long enough for Taekwoon to understand the meaning behind it; I’m here and it’s okay. Then Hakyeon’s bouncing up beside Sanghyuk.

Though he knows it’s not Hakyeon’s intention, it makes Taekwoon feel like a child.

But maybe that’s not always so bad; Taekwoon’s not very good at looking after himself. He can do all the normal things (usually), but sometimes he gets lost in the flow and time passes him by quicker than he can blink. It’s not all the time, much rarer now than it had been when they all first started out together, but Taekwoon still finds that the other members – friends, his mind whispers – reach out to steady him when he loses his way. He makes sure that he does the same for them when he can because sometimes it’s the only way he knows how to let them know he cares.

Taekwoon shifts, fingers slipping along the grooves of the water bottle as he watches the others walk along in front of him. He can’t remember where exactly they’re going – Jaehwan and Sanghyuk had been making too much noise when the managers had sent them off with their schedule for the day. Taekwoon absentmindedly scratches the back of his neck, following at a sedate pace. No one seems to know quite where they’re going, no plan at the ready, but it doesn’t seem to affect the mood much. If anything, everyone looks more relaxed than Taekwoon’s seen in ages. He tugs at his sleeve and tries to keep up, feeling like his body is too heavy.

Taekwoon has a habit about him.

There’s no way that he can ever look smaller with his broad, towering frame but that doesn’t stop him from trying. It’s not exactly that he wants to be shorter, narrower, thinner, compact – he just wants to be able to disappear sometimes.

He’s never been the smallest guy, but even so, his clothes are always just a size too big. His shirt is so large, fluttering about him in tiny ripples when a breeze blows past. He swims in its waves, sinks himself into the fabric. But it’s a comfort. So he hangs at the back of the group, taciturn and solitary, and allows the hems of his sleeves to slip over his hands until they nearly engulf his fingertips. He rubs the fabric between his thumb and the side of his index finger and watches the others, water bottle clenched tightly in his other hand.

Taekwoon almost doesn’t realize it until they’re back home. It swarmed around him, chattering in the background incessantly until he could drown it out, practically forget about it. He could feel it hovering distantly, tickling around the edges, but transparently like looking through a mirror, foggy and coated in condensation. The feeling doesn’t register properly until he’s blearily rolled out his futon and collapsed down onto it, boneless and ruffled.

He’s just so tired.

Taekwoon rakes a hand through his hair and tips over on his side, face landing roughly in his pillow. Their lifestyle is a fast paced jumble of motion and sound and almost more activity than Taekwoon can even keep up with on some days. He’s become more or less used to it over the years, and it’s not until they slow down that he realizes the roaring in his ears and the shake of his hands. (They don’t slow down very often. It makes the realization worse.)

The roaring isn’t there now – or perhaps it fills his ears in its absence. Instead of the cacophony of noise there is a scream of silence echoing inside his head, pushing at his head and threatening to burst. Taekwoon covers his ears with the pillow and rolls onto his side with a weak moan.

He’s so tired. Someone outside the room shouts and there’s a series of thumping shuffles before several voices join each other in laughter, harmonizing even now. Taekwoon curls into himself and presses the pillow tighter against his ears. His feet are bare and he shoves them underneath a blanket to fight away the chill creeping up to his skin. His arms are shaking.

He’s so tired.

I want to disappear, he thinks, breathing out slowly. When everything becomes too much, Taekwoon wants to wink out of existence, float in space in some separate plane of reality where he can sleep instead of think. But, without fail, the guilt sinks in immediately after, a cold shock of remembrance that he could never actually do that.

Taekwoon loves the stage, loves the lights and the feelings and being able to send everything he has to the people watching him. If he can move at least one person with his voice, Taekwoon thinks that all of the struggle is worth it. He’s shy in person, withdrawn and seemingly sullen, but it’s on stage that he can come alive. He loves the stage, loves singing, so much that he’s on the verge of suffocating in feeling.

He can still remember their first win. Every hour of practice, every minute of worry of will I debut? that bled into will we make it? after the lights had been shut off, every tired muscle and weary sigh and every drop of sweat – every single bit of it led up to that one moment. He’d been so scared – they all had – that maybe that moment, that payoff for all their hard work and ambition and desire, would never come. Taekwoon remembers hearing their name announced, the ghost feeling of hands on his back, hot tears running down his cheeks in a stream that never seemed to stop.

Backstage was a blur until Hakyeon pulled Taekwoon into his arms and held him, kept him away from the eye of the camera, the staff, the world. Taekwoon couldn’t stop shaking, latching onto the back of Hakyeon’s jacket with tight hands as doubt, excitement, astonishment whirled in his head in a mess of color. Hakyeon’s shoulder was strong, his voice soft and sure as he comforted Taekwoon.

“See?” Hakyeon had said as he held Taekwoon a little tighter. “I told you they’d love you.”

Taekwoon had released a harsh sob into his collarbone.

He loves singing so much that sometimes it threatens to rip into him and scald him to his very core. Taekwoon spends all of his energy on stage, pours everything into singing and feels the rest of himself drip away in a trail of puddles behind him. He doesn’t know who he is by the time they get back to the hotel.

-

The sky is grey and dark, casting a lazy mood into the room and ricocheting around inside Taekwoon until his limbs almost feel too heavy to be moved. He is a great lump in front of the window, lightly wrapped in a blanket too small for him, too small for any of them. The glass isn’t cold though, not exactly, even if it looks like it should be icy to the touch. Taekwoon’s fingertip slides down it briefly before his hand retreats back to his lap.

He’s been watching the clouds shift in the wind, watching the way the faded light washes over building and dips steadily toward the horizon. No one’s home, so Taekwoon sits in front of the window uninterrupted for as long as it takes for his back to become stiff and his legs to prick with pins and needles all the way down. But still he doesn’t move, thoughts buzzing across his consciousness in a constant, careless static.

He wishes he could just stop. Stop thinking, stop feeling, stop existing.

He wants to quiet his own thoughts and rest in the back of someone else’s, wants to curl up and hide, just for a little while. A car horn honks somewhere far below, distant and removed. The sound is so muted, small and silly and far off, that it sounds like some kind of a toy. A cloud drifts in front of the already faded sun and adds another feathery layer of darkness to the sky.

Taekwoon shuffles, blanket slipping off one shoulder as he lies down on the floor. He rests his head on his arm and stares out the window, wrapped in a weird fog where time seems to stop and slows down his thoughts to a sluggish crawl. Twenty minutes later, when he comes to and finally moves, shoulder twinging in pain, he leaves behind a cross work stitching of thin, shallow indentations in his arm. The area is red, tiny rivers of lines jumbled together from the pattern his hair had left in his skin. It's tender, and he absently scratches at it, eyes wandering back out the window.

He wonders what it would feel like to melt through the glass.

Absently, Taekwoon rests a hand against it, hand not fully flush with it. There’s a twinge in his knee that makes its way up his leg when he moves, and his eyebrows pull together in discomfort for a moment. The glass starts to fog beneath the heat of his hand and Taekwoon pulls away.

Blanket draped securely over him once more, Taekwoon fidgets with the corner of it as he stares through the window and out, eyes unfocused. Absently, his toes begin to curl beneath him as his fingers twist into the blanket, just twitchy little mindless movements that occupy the smallest space in the back of his head while the rest of it is taken up. He’s…feeling something, thoughts skipping around and rippling across his consciousness.

Eventually he gets up and leaves, wincing when a sting of pain shoots up his leg. He doesn’t get very far, collapses onto the couch, floppy and boneless like some sort of throw blanket carelessly tossed. His cheek rubs against the couch when he shifts, the fabric scratchy and musty. In front of him, the coffee table encases his view and he reaches out, arm feeling heavy.

Taekwoon picks idly at the grain of the table leg, scratching his nails back and forth over the shallow grooves.

-

The water runs down his back, pounds against the top of his head. It’s warm and the rush of the shower drowns out the rest of the world, leaving behind nothing but Taekwoon. He’s so tired, feet a weak anchor to the ground, and it knocks against the inside of his head from the inside out. He closes his eyes, one hand braced against the shower wall.

Despite the hot water, he’s cold; it’s a cold that seeps into his skin and sneaks through his bones until he’s shivering, tired and weak. He kneels down in the tub to feel the warmth envelope him, wraps his arms around his knees, face shielded from the spray. He listens to the water patter against the walls and thinks of rain and the ocean and a warm hand. He sinks into himself more and lets the warm water wash over him.

In the back of his awareness, distant and faded, he hears a banging noise. It’s insistent, repetitive, and lulls Taekwoon back to that numb place in his head where he feels nothing but the shower water wrapping him in warmth. Then there are hands on his shoulders, shaking him frantically, digging into his skin. A voice pierces through the haze and Taekwoon struggles against the exhaustion, forces his eyes open and he's met with the panicked face of Hakyeon. He lets out a desperate noise and pulls Taekwoon to him roughly, body shaking as he clutches Taekwoon tightly. Taekwoon looks past him to the door, dimly registers Hongbin’s white knuckle grip on the doorknob, and sees the faces of his members colored with worry and he doesn’t know why.

He’s groggy and disoriented and still so tired.

-

They don’t fight very often. Of course there are little disagreements and the occasional confrontation that leaves faces red and the shadow of raised voices echoing through the dorm alongside the slams of doors, but Hakyeon is a peacemaker and everyone knows him and Taekwoon to make fair decisions, so mostly it’s not a problem any of them have to deal with. Taekwoon tries not to let his emotions get the better of him; he hardly does more than snap at the others when he’s angry, reigns in any explosive feelings because he grew up with a career soldier for a father and he’s learned how to keep his tongue, think before he speaks.

Taekwoon tries not to let his emotions get the better of him.

Sometimes they do.

It’s the most difficult when he fights with Hakyeon – Hakyeon who is kind and helpful and only wants what’s best for all of them. They may have different ways of getting there, but Taekwoon and Hakyeon almost always reach the same conclusion. So when they end up on different sides of the universe, hours apart, Taekwoon is frustrated and shaken up, thrust out of his usual, comfortable place.

He and Hakyeon are different people. This is obvious to everyone around them; everyone, who comments on it in a sort of hushed wonder at these two people who can work together so amazingly despite it all. And it’s obvious to Taekwoon, a blinding reminder of his own insecurities. When Hakyeon is upset, he latches onto others, makes himself feel better by making them happier, by making them feel loved. But Taekwoon isn’t like that. He withdraws and hides and either succeeds in fixing his problems or pushes them away and ignores them. He wants help but he doesn’t know how to ask for it. Hakyeon doesn’t know how to stop giving it.

Taekwoon is stressed and overstimulated, so much life around him – barking, buzzing, screaming, exploding – and Hakyeon sometimes forgets that they both need different things. He’s not Hakyeon. He can’t be Hakyeon. So they argue and shout and Taekwoon holes himself up in his room, locks the door, and doesn’t come out for a very long time. They work it out afterwards, they always do, but it makes him feel sick to his stomach every time.

-

Something’s beeping outside the room, constant and high-pitched and digging into his skull like an ice pick. His mind is uselessly busy once more and Taekwoon can’t sleep, doesn’t really want to anyway, but it’s too bright and it makes the headache worse. He squeezes his eyes against the light, pulls his blanket over his head but it's too late - a floodgate has opened in his head and thoughts are pouring in.

(He can't stop it, can't stop thinking. He's falling. Sometimes Hakyeon helps with that.)

Abruptly, the beeping stops and the silence rages in Taekwoon’s ears, a roaring wave of nothing. A noise escapes his throat and is trapped by the blanket – a small, involuntary, sad sound that’s far too close to a whimper for his liking. He is afraid that if he speaks, too loudly, too much, into the prominent silence, he will shatter, pieces cracking and collapsing around him. He’s shaking. Taekwoon clutches the blanket and pulls it tighter around himself, trapping the noises in and keeping the strange silence out.

He’s accidentally slipped into a not very good place and it’s drowning him.

Taekwoon waits for equilibrium, for everything to even itself out, and breathes purposefully, in and out. He counts. He counts each breath and the number of sounds he can hear outside. He counts the number of fraying threads he can see on the edge of the blanket and counts the veins he can see on the backs of his hands.

He takes a minute to quiet his bones.

When he’s steadied himself, breathing even and head slightly more calmed down for the time being, Taekwoon abandons his blanket and moves to the edge of the room. He falls asleep against the wall, knees pulled up and head pillowed in his arms. He feels limp and weak and he sleeps for hours before Jaehwan is shaking him awake. Taekwoon stands up carefully and rolls his neck, stops abruptly when he feels the muscles pull, leans heavily against the wall because his right leg is dead.

-

The air inside feels damp and musty and Taekwoon wants to go outside. He feels cramped, cooped up in the small dorm in a body that suddenly feels like it isn’t the right size for him anymore. A cup of tea is sitting in front of him untouched on the kitchen counter, thin wafts of steam drifting up to meet him. Taekwoon shivers, tugging his sleeves lightly to cover his hands, socked toes curling against the cold wood floor. It’s colder outside, but he thinks that’s where he wants to be.

He shoves his feet into boots, bundled up from the weather outside, but none of his clothes can stave off the chill he feels fretting beneath his skin.

Thick puffs of steam pour from between his lips as he steps out onto the street. There aren’t many people out; it’s a dreary day and it’s too early for most people to be walking around anyway. It suits him just fine though and he walks past an empty park, exhaling audibly as he wishes he had a hot pack with him. Taekwoon’s boots crunch over twigs and dead leaves.

There’s a coffee shop across the street with lights strung up all over the front window. He briefly considers going inside before he remembers he doesn’t have any money with him. Even so, he’s almost drawn in by the promise of coffee, if even just to be surrounded by the smell. Taekwoon buries his red nose in his scarf and keeps walking. The corner of his eyes sting and he decides to head back.  
He’s tense, hands shaking in his pockets as he turns a corner and walks back toward their building. His whole back is tight, bound up like a coil, and he’s about to crack. Being outside didn’t help much – it just changed things around. When he’s just a block away, it starts to snow, puffy white flecks falling from the sky seemingly out of nowhere. It would look beautiful if he wasn’t so cold, so uncomfortable, and the flakes land on his skin, bringing with them a chilling prick of pain.

Taekwoon drops his coat at the door, unable to bother about hanging it up. His boots are kicked off haphazardly at the entrance, his scarf and hat abandoned on the floor on his way to the kitchen. No one seems to be back still, but Taekwoon had only been gone for about fifteen minutes. It’s strangely lonely all the same. Something tightens in his chest and he breaths deeply, trying to dislodge the feeling.

Taekwoon's tea is cold by the time he walks in. He drinks it anyway.

The tightness in his chest works its way up his throat and Taekwoon blinks rapidly, screws up his face and bites the inside of his cheek to try and stave off the tears. He can’t figure out why he wants to cry, but he does. His hands curl into fists that leave his nails biting into his palms and he moves away from the counter and his empty cup.

Then, in the middle of the kitchen, Taekwoon stops, tired. He doesn’t want to move anymore and so instead he slowly lies on the on the floor, quiet and still, and doesn’t move for a very long time. The floor isn’t as cold as it seemed. He gives himself a minute to just breathe, eyes unfocused on the ceiling on his chest rises and falls. There’s still a stinging at the back of his eyes but he’s not thinking about that. He thinks that – maybe – the thoughts can’t get to him there.

Things aren’t really any clearer on the floor but they feel a little less hopeless.

-

Taekwoon doesn’t know when it started; all he knows is that now his head is pounding almost as hard as his heart and he feels like he’s going to be sick. There’s a headache searing through his brow and, through it all, his heart is fluttering in his chest, a tiny little frightened hummingbird desperate to break free. He tries to calm down but his body is shaking and his mind is frantic and he doesn’t know why. His vision slides out of focus for a moment and Taekwoon is afraid he’s going to wake up on the floor.

The next day, Taekwoon is sick.

He feels the low, burning scratch of his throat, the way the insides feel dry and swollen and thick. He can hardly speak. Sanghyuk is the one who sees him first as he comes to wake him and Hongbin up. Taekwoon is almost immediately put in a state of quarantine as Hakyeon explains to their manager that Taekwoon is sick and needs to rest. Hongbin is dragged from the room and the door is closed quietly. He can still hear them out there, showering and eating and speaking, getting ready to leave for their schedule. Taekwoon envies them on some level, deep inside, but on the surface he only wants everything to go away.

Hakyeon checks on him briefly, makes sure that Taekwoon knows to call him or the manager if there’s a problem – “I’m serious Taekwoon,” Hakyeon says, staring hard at him. “Don’t try to do it all by yourself.” – and Jaehwan covertly slips some snacks near Taekwoon’s pillow. Then, in a whirlwind, they’re all gone and Taekwoon is alone.

He’s hot and cold and aching, his body sore and weak. His eyes sting even in the dim light and it hurts to swallow, hurts to move, hurts to breathe. His calf aches; it’s been tensed for hours on end for no reason and Taekwoon is unable to relax. He tries shaking it out, pointing his foot and then slowly relaxing but it’s useless. Taekwoon rolls over onto his back heavily. Dead arm. His body is breaking down, it feels like.

Taekwoon’s tired and it’s dark and he can see static buzzing across his vision.

It’s so warm that he can’t muster up the will to leave, the energy to move or open his eyes. So he doesn’t. He lets the headache press behind his eyes and lets his thoughts drift until he doesn’t remember that he should move and slowly, he relaxes, bit by bit.

He sleeps for the whole day.

-

Taekwoon can’t really explain the compulsion to sit in the bathtub which is just as well because none of the others ever ask. He thinks that they must just figure it to be one of his weird habits or something. He supposes it probably is. For whatever reason, the tub is just a place that he feels comfortable – not safe, exactly, but something close.

There was some kind of switch flipped just after dinner; he was fine and now he is not. Taekwoon isn’t ever really sure how to fix this and so he always just follows whatever it is that he feels he needs to do. Sometimes that’s sleep, sometimes it’s pulling Hakyeon aside and talking to him, sometimes it’s making coffee, putting on his headphones, and floating away from the rest of the world.

He hates when it gets like this, when it’s like everything within him stops and his heart should be ticking loud in the silence but it’s not. His insides are quiet and empty, a hollow little sad thing. His feet lead him to the bathroom absentmindedly and the door is closed. It happens, every so often, that the door is closed and no one is inside. Taekwoon turns the handle and it stops short in its rotation. A cold sort of worry slithers down his chest.

The shower starts and his minor worry turns into full blown panic.

His hand tightens on the doorknob, the cold brass hard and unrelenting. An ache spreads inside him and covers his skin. He can hear a few of the others talking in the living room and he tries to latch onto the sound, tries to stop his hand from shaking. But his breath is coming out too fast and he doesn’t know how to slow it down, eyes wide and unblinking as he stares at the closed door.

It’s such a silly, silly thing; it’s just a bathtub. He can sit anywhere else in the dorm, he doesn’t need to sit there. Except he does and now he can’t and he doesn’t know when the door will be opened and there’s nowhere else to hide and he needs to find something. And it’s irrational – he knows that, somewhere in the back of his mind – but it doesn’t stop the panic.

He feels lost and his limbs feel too heavy as his hand slips off the knob and he spins around, heart pounding as he stumbles down the hall to search for something. He walks into the first open door he sees and he’s not even sure which room it is but he wrenches open the closet door and crams himself inside. He pulls the door closed once more, as far as possible, and tries to take deep breaths, eyes clenched tight.

His heart is hammering in his chest and Taekwoon covers his mouth with his hands – trying to breath, trying to keep the air inside of him – and his head feels light, his vision swimming as he trembles, curled up on a shelf in a tiny closet. The room is dark and he doesn’t move for a very long time.

There’s a tiny strip of light filtering into the room from the hallway and Taekwoon tries to latch onto that. It helps, but not much. By the time Wonsik finds him, Taekwoon’s nose is bleeding and they all fret and send him off to bed early.

-

Hakyeon is a man that Taekwoon has confidence in. He thinks they’re a pretty good team together, and Hakyeon balances out Taekwoon’s impulsiveness with rationality. He’s an important friend to Taekwoon, one who he thinks he’ll have by his side for the rest of his life.

Taekwoon is hiding in the back of the car. He’s abandoned his usual seat to spread himself out across the last row of seats, one arm propping up his head, the other splayed across his stomach. He has his headphones in, soft music filtering into his ears, and he can see the patterns of light cast through the trees as they cast a kaleidoscope of shapes across his eyelids.

It’s not exactly hiding so much as it’s Taekwoon finding somewhere that he can get a little peace and quiet, but he’s hidden all the same.

And though it’s not Hakyeon who finds him, it’s Hakyeon who stays by him for the rest of the day. When they’re back in the dorm together away from prying eyes and curious minds, Taekwoon takes Hakyeon’s hand in his as they watch television. His face heats up when he feels Hakyeon’s eyes on him, a flush rising from the collar of his shirt. But Hakyeon doesn’t tease him or laugh, he just breathes a happy little sigh and leans against Taekwoon. Relaxing, Taekwoon squeezes Hakyeon’s hand just a little tighter.

Taekwoon’s not good at the kind of affection that Hakyeon or the others are good at; he can’t give it as readily or as enthusiastically or as often. But he can take Hakyeon’s hand in a quiet moment and he can hold him when the emotion – happiness, sadness, anger, relief – becomes too much. In the few times he’s initiated it, Hakyeon’s face is radiant after a chaste kiss, so full of love and elation that it makes Taekwoon’s chest ache.

He takes and takes and takes and never gives back. (Takes everything Hakyeon has to offer and then some.)

Taekwoon knows that he loves Hakyeon, he just doesn’t know how to show it. Hakyeon does it with kisses and hugs and words of encouragement, a strong hand on Taekwoon’s back before they go on stage, the confidence in his eyes that show Taekwoon that he believes in him more than Taekwoon believes in himself. Taekwoon has seen the way couples on the street behave, the way that love is depicted in movies and books, and he knows that he can’t do that.

Hakyeon should be disappointed in him.

But somehow, he’s not. Taekwoon’s struck luck in the most unlikely place and he’s still waiting for it all to fall to pieces. Not because of Hakyeon – no, never because of Hakyeon, but because of himself. One day Hakyeon will realize what he could have and Taekwoon will be standing alone.

Hakyeon finds him in the corner, face buried against his knees. Taekwoon never seeks him out first; he doesn’t have to because he always knows when Hakyeon is going to find him. Selfish, his head hisses at him. When Hakyeon places a careful hand on his shoulder, Taekwoon hugs his knees tighter, curling into himself in shame.

“What’s wrong, Taekwoon?” he asks gently.

Taekwoon shakes his head, still looking down.

“Hey.” Hakyeon’s voice is as soft as his touch as he guides Taekwoon’s arms away.

Taekwoon folds his legs down, head hanging as he closes his eyes and tries to breathe. Hakyeon’s fingers are light on his cheek and he wants to lean into it, maybe he actually does, but he can’t bring himself to open his eyes. A clock ticks in the room and Taekwoon latches onto the sound and counts.

“Taekwoon. Please…look at me?”

And the hesitation in Hakyeon’s voice is what forces Taekwoon’s head up, the thundering doubt of oh no, I hurt him, coloring his face.

Hakyeon’s staring back at him in worry, eyebrows pinched together and mouth tight. Taekwoon’s shoulders drop and he runs his fingertips over the back of Hakyeon’s hand like a question. Hakyeon turns his hand immediately, laces his fingers through Taekwoon’s and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Taekwoon bites his tongue; Hakyeon shouldn’t be comforting him, Taekwoon’s the one in the wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Hakyeon tries again, a small smile on his lips as he runs his thumb over the back of Taekwoon’s hand comfortingly.

Hakyeon is so beautiful, he thinks, his throat closed up, his heart nowhere to be found. Taekwoon runs his eyes over Hakyeon’s face slowly, taking it in like it’s the first time he’s ever seen him. Hakyeon’s eyes are imploring and Taekwoon meets his stare, tries not to think about how important Hakyeon is to him and how much that hurts.

“I can’t…be what you need,” he admits finally, his voice coming out in a scratchy whisper. He feels his throat working furiously and he tries to blink down the rush of tears stinging at his eyes.

His stomach drops; there’s no going back. Hakyeon will realize that Taekwoon is right and he’ll find someone better suited – someone who can love him and kiss him and hold him with abandon. Someone who is not Taekwoon. And Hakyeon deserves it, he deserves someone who will love him the way he should be loved.

“Oh, Taekwoon,” Hakyeon breathes, leaning into him. His arms are warm and tight around Taekwoon. “You’re exactly what I need.”

And Taekwoon wants to explain to him that Hakyeon doesn’t understand what he means, that it’s more than whatever he could possibly be thinking. He stops short, mouth barely open, because the look in Hakyeon’s eyes tells him that Hakyeon understands exactly what he meant. But Hakyeon’s still there. His hands are hot on Taekwoon’s neck, the fire in his eyes burning through his body.

Taekwoon doesn’t have the words, he rarely feels like he does, so instead his arms come out and he pulls Hakyeon to him, buries his face in Hakyeon’s shoulder. He’s not sure the doubt will ever go away, but if Hakyeon keeps looking at him the way he did, Taekwoon thinks that it might.

Hakyeon hugs him like he’s trying to push into Taekwoon’s space, into his world. Taekwoon is more than happy to let him in. They go back to Taekwoon’s room then and lie together on his futon and Hakyeon never lets go of his hand. Taekwoon run his fingers through Hakyeon’s hair and rests his cheek against it. Hakyeon is tucked into his side, hands sure and soft against Taekwoon’s back. The room is warm and sleepy and Taekwoon’s heart is calm, beating languidly with Hakyeon’s.

Taekwoon falls asleep with the knowledge that not everything will be perfect – he won’t be perfect – but with the hope that it will get better. With Hakyeon in his arms, Taekwoon thinks they will always make it work.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my sun, moon, and stars. Without you, I'm not sure I would have had the courage to start any of this. Thank you.
> 
> To everyone that has read this series: thank you so much. This was a deeply personal series and I am absolutely overwhelmed by the beautiful, heartfelt response this has received. Thank you for following me (and Taekwoon) on this journey. It means more to me than I can tell you. From the bottom of my heart - thank you.
> 
> To everyone that has identified with Taekwoon: I love you and I hope you’re well. You’re not alone.
> 
> Two years ago today, I started a little thing I called the quiet verse and, as all things do, it has come to an end. This may or may not be a surprise, but this is the last story in the series. There will be one final part following Hakyeon coming sometime later this year, but Taekwoon's story has come to an end here. A sincere thank you to everyone who has enjoyed this. I never thought this little idea of mine could ever become something like this.


End file.
